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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065847">The Scent of Something Old</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus'>judithandronicus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Sexual Situations, Coming In Pants, Episode: s01e05 Coquilles, First Time, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Missing Scene, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter, Shameless Smut, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:02:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065847</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you make it a habit to smell all your patients, Dr. Lecter?”<br/>Frankly, Will is unsure of which answer would disturb him more. Does he want to be just one of the many? Or does he want to be…more? To become more than just a patient for the good doctor?<br/>“Just when they’re presenting with unexplained headaches in need of a diagnosis, Will.” </p><p>--</p><p>A missing scene first time fic, set during S 1.5, right after Hannibal smells Will. The dubcon in the tag is for the power inequality in the doctor/patient relationship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Scent of Something Old</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, new fandom! I have been around Hannibal fandom on twitter for a while, but this is my first foray into writing for these two. Unbetaed, because that's my brand.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“Did you just smell me?” The doctor is standing close enough that Will can feel the heat of his body, the soft puffs of his breath as he exhales.</p><p>“Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave. That—“ Hannibal inhales again, and when he speaks next, disdain drips heavy from his tongue, “smells like something with a ship on the bottle.”</p><p>Will chuckles, stark and mirthless, at what appears to be the good doctor’s attempt at a jab. “I keep getting it for Christmas.” The aftershave serves its purpose, therefore he has no need to replace it. Its functionality is what matters, not its cloying scent of artificial pine and salt spray. He shrugs the insult off, reminds himself that Hannibal Lecter’s refined taste in men’s toiletries bears no weight on his own predicament.</p><p>“Have your headaches been any worse lately?” the other man probes. “More frequent?”</p><p>“Yes, actually,” Will acknowledges, albeit grudgingly, as he walks away, suddenly desperate to put more distance between them. The more space between them, the easier it will be, he thinks to himself. The easier to tamp down that thrum of adrenaline that courses through his body whenever Hannibal is near. Whenever he lets himself be too close to the good doctor, allows himself to float, to be pulled ever closer into the other man’s magnetic pull.</p><p>“I’d change the aftershave.”</p><p>On Hannibal’s lips, the recommendation is nonchalant, yet somehow irritatingly victorious, as though Will has just ceded some key advantage in a game he didn’t realize they’ve been playing. Will’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly in response, and he vows silently, with the petulance of a small child, to be more liberal in his application of the offending aftershave before his next appointment.</p><p>He grits his teeth, rolls his neck and shoulders in a futile attempt to alleviate the tension knotting inside the base of his skull. “Do you make it a habit to smell all your patients, Dr. Lecter?”</p><p>Frankly, Will is unsure of which answer would disturb him more. Does he want to be just one of the many? Or does he want to be…more? To <em>become</em> more than just a patient for the good doctor?</p><p>“Just when they’re presenting with unexplained headaches in need of a diagnosis, Will.” Hannibal replies, his voice a throaty purr that wraps itself around Will and threatens to suffocate him. He’s gotten close again, Will knows it, even though Hannibal’sfootfalls are silent. He moves with the silent grace of a predator stalking its prey. The owl to the field mouse, the wolf to the lamb.</p><p>Only Will has never known a prey animal quite like himself, one who wants, so desperately, to be taken, even as he wants to escape.</p><p>He turns on his heel and finds himself leaning forward into Hannibal’s chest, his chin tucking into the hollow of Hannibal’s throat. He sighs as warm, strong arms envelop him. Will shouldn’t do this; he knows he shouldn’t do this. He breathes deeply, inhaling Hannibal’s scent, all wealth and spicy heat layered over the comfort of leather-bound books, and lets his better angels fall by the wayside.</p><p>“Hannibal,” Will groans, nuzzling even closer so that his lips move against Hannibal’s throat, “<em>please</em>.”</p><p>“Please, what, Will? What do you ask of me?” The good doctor’s breath is a hot tease at Will’s temple, as is the gentle press of his hands, those broad palms splayed across Will’as back. Not stroking, not moving, just…existing there, a reminder of what could be, if only Hannibal bridged the distance. Will imagines, in florid detail, how those nimble fingers could work their way through the protective layers of Will’s clothing, how they might feel on his bare skin.</p><p>He imagines it, and he <em>wants.</em></p><p>Hannibal turns his head, noses gently against the side of Will’s head, and in doing so, he tilts Will’s world several degrees off its axis. Will bites his lip, a vain attempt to contain the throaty whimper that barest touch elicits, and then slowly sinks to his knees.</p><p>“You haven’t answered me, Will.” Hannibal runs those long, graceful fingers through Will’s hair, careful not to snag the unkempt curls. The gesture, surprisingly tender, prompts Will to lean into it, eager for more, like a touch-starved dog seeking its master’s approval. Above him, Hannibal chuckles, a dark and dangerous rumble emerging from deep within the confines of that bespoke suit. Suddenly, the gentle hand in Will’s hair tightens; the caress turns brutal.</p><p>Will’s scalp sings with the burn of a thousand pinprick stings, sharp enough to draw tears to his eyes. Hannibal tugs so harshly Will has no recourse but to let himself be pulled where Hannibal wants him, and where he wants him, in this moment, is staring up at him. Will struggles futilely,squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, but it’s of no use.</p><p>“Open your eyes,” Hannibal commands.</p><p>Will does not obey, and receives another harsh tug for his disobedience.</p><p>“Will?” The barest hint of a question colors what is still, most assuredly, a command, but it’s enough to set Will’s equilibrium akimbo, to make him more willing to obey. This time, Will reluctantly complies, opening his eyes and immediately focusing his gaze on Hannibal’s adam’s apple.</p><p>Yet another tug on his hair, and this time, it sends sparks running down Will’s spine to the heat beginning to pool deep in his gut. Nervously, awkwardly, Will raises his eyes, to Hannibal’s forehead, to the lock of golden-grey hair that’s fallen loose over the doctor’s brow.</p><p>“I’d like for you to look at me, Will,” Hannibal says, his voice resonant with a new softness now, “look me in the eye, please.”</p><p>And despite that voice in his head that tells him to flee, that urge for self-preservation that sends the rabbit to its warren when the meadow goes silent, Will obeys. He looks into Hannibal’s whiskey brown eyes, and finds himself drowning in their depths, feels drunk from the intensity.</p><p>“There you are.” Hannibal’s lips quirk into a crooked, gentle smile, his hand in Will’s hair once again soothing in is caresses. “Now, let us try again. Tell me, Will, what is it you ask of me?”</p><p>Will stares up at him, mute, for long moments, mesmerized. A shrimp hypnotized by the seductive light of the anglerfish. And yet, he can’t find it in himself to care, not in the slightest. Not when the predator about to consume him is that profoundly beautiful. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, idly worries the tender flesh.</p><p>
  <em>Please, Hannibal.</em>
</p><p>Will hopes that he can convey fullness of his desire, the sheer desperation of it, without having to speak the words. Without giving voice to his need. Still chewing on his lip, he blinks, slow and owlish, and leans in closer to Hannibal’s groin.</p><p>Hannibal is still running his fingers through his hair, smiling almost beatifically, and it’s too much. Will feels like he may break under the weight of that gentle gaze, and so he severs the connection, pushes his face into Hannibal’s crotch, rubs his cheeks and nose against the still soft bulge he finds there.</p><p>“Please,” he mouths against the butter-soft fabric, feeling his face heat up, flush with a combination of arousal and shame. He can’t bring himself to look back up at Hannibal’s face. At some point, the tears gathering in his eyes have spilled over, he realizes, vaguely aware of the hot, wet trails along his cheeks. He blinks away another round threatening to pour over, nuzzles into the dip where Hannibal’s thigh meets his pelvis.</p><p>“Please,” Will begins again, nosing along the line of Hannibal’s prominent, growing erection, “let me.”</p><p>“Anything,” Hannibal whispers, “anything you wish.”</p><p>If the tears weren’t spilling already, Will is certain the heady mixture of relief and sheer lust he feels at Hannibal’s response would have been enough to bring him to tears. Grateful, desperate, he reaches for the clasp of Hannibal’s trousers, his fingers awkward as he attempts to unfasten it.</p><p>“Dear boy, let me,” Hannibal offers, lovingly swatting Will’s clumsy hands away with one hand as he undoes his trousers with the nimble fingers of the other. Will rests his forehead on Hannibal’s abdomen, takes in a shaky breath as he watches Hannibal’s fingers move, and then <em>fuck. </em>Will snuggles in closer as Hannibal slowly draws his zipper down, feels his mouth flood with saliva as each tantalizing inch of Hannibal’s underwear is revealed. He closes his eyes and breathes it all in, nuzzles his face against the silky fabric and inhales, deep and long. And for a moment, maybe he questions himself, wonders if it’s weird to do this, if it means he’s like Hannibal in his predation. Is it <em>normal </em>to want to bury your face in another man’s crotch just to breathe him in, to smell the scent of his arousal? Whatever the answer may be, Will cannot bring himself to care. He rubs against Hannibal’s now tented briefs—feeling his clothed erection with his cheek, his jaw, his nose—rubbing his face back and forth against Hannibal’s cock the way a cat would mark its territory.</p><p>Hannibal scratches blunt, perfectly manicured nails through Will’s hair, light and delicate, but the sensation is enough to draw him out of his daze. He opens his eyes and looks up through his lashes as he continues to nose against Hannibal’s crotch, and what he sees sends flares of arousal sparking throughout his body. Will presses the heel of his palm against his own erection, straining as it is beneath his pants. Hannibal stares down at him, eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown; Will watches him drag the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, slowly—so slowly—before he takes it between his teeth and bites. He’s never seen the good doctor look so discomposed, so goddamn hungry. And that he’s looking at <em>Will</em> like that, because of what Will is doing to him? It’s a rush like nothing Will’s experienced. It’s never been like this, never so good.</p><p>Will takes a tentative lick up the line of Hannibal’s clothed cock, the flat of his tongue dragging against the minuscule nubs of the silk. Hannibal’s golden brown eyes flutter shut at the sensation, the muscles of his thighs, his abdomen tensing. When he reaches the tip, he finds a small dark patch of fabric, damp from where the precome has started to leak. Will flicks his tongue over the spot, mouths at it, trying to suck the pearly liquid from the fabric, but can’t get enough of a taste through the fabric. Will presses a soft kiss to the spot, then slides his hands up to the waistband of Hannibal’s briefs. “Off, please?”</p><p>Hannibal obliges, but only barely, pushing his underpants and trousers down just enough to free his erection from its confines, tucking his briefs snug beneath his scrotum. Will sits back on his heels and watches, awestruck, as Hannibal’s cock springs free and slaps against his abdomen. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, saliva thick as he takes it all in. Hannibal’s cock juts out, long and thick, from a surprisingly wild tangle of greying hair, such a stark contrast to his carefully groomed outward persona. The flushed head has begun to peek out from the foreskin and glistens with precome. Will has never wanted to taste anything more.</p><p>“You are breathtaking.”A faint quiver to Hannibal’s voice belies his arousal as he strokes a delicate fingertip along Will’s cheek, tender and too collected for Will’s liking. He flattens out his tongue and licks the underside of Hannibal’s cock from root to tip, pausing to finally finally get a taste of the precome drooling from the slit. Then, he grips the base and lets his hand glide up and down along the shaft, taking mental note of how the skin along the shaft rolls and slides against the friction of his hand, pausing at times to squeeze, to memorize the heft of it in his hand. All the while, Will drinks in the scent of Hannibal, relishes the hitches in the other man’s breath, the muted gasps as Will explores him intimately.</p><p>Will takes another exploratory lick up the shaft, then toys with Hannibal’s foreskin, nibbling and mouthing wet and messy before he dips the tip of his tongue into the slit to get another taste of precome. When he takes the head into his mouth and suckles, Hannibal moans, unrestrained, and the timbre of it resonates deep in Will’s core. He massages the frenulum with his tongue, then takes Hannibal deeper into his mouth, hollows his cheeks and sucks. This time, he's rewarded not just with a moan, but with those surgeon’s fingers carding roughly through his hair, gripping tight and sending a delicious miasma of pleasure-pain along Will’s nerve-endings.</p><p>It’s good, Will thinks to himself.He’s got his psychiatrist’s cock in his mouth and it’s better than he imagined, because <em>yes</em>, he has definitely imagined this. He begins to bring his hand to meet his mouth, bobbing his head up and down, finding a steady rhythm increasingly punctuated by Hannibal’s bitten off gasps.</p><p>Realizing his jaw is starting to ache, Will pulls off with a slurp, and then mouths messy, wet kisses up and down Hannibal’s length. He teases that sensitive spot where the shaft meets the head with the tip of his tongue, and is rewarded with a breathy moan. God, he loves those sounds. He wants to bottle them up. He wants to make the good doctor lose control, to scream his name.</p><p>Will dips lower, laving Hannibal’s balls with his tongue, and then takes one into his mouth and hums around it. Hannibal likes that, he makes a mental note as he takes the other into his mouth. <em>Hannibal really likes that</em>, judging from how his knees go a little wobbly. He’s using both hands to toy with Will’s hair now, his blunt nails scraping against Will’s scalp, and Will doesn’t bother trying to stifle the moan as he licks his way back up Hannibal’s cock.</p><p>Hannibal’s breath is coming in shallow pants now, the little sounds he’s making are more ragged, but he’s still so reserved. He’s got his fingers in Will’s hair but he’s not holding on or pulling or anything. Will wants that, he thinks. He wants Hannibal to manhandle him, to fuck his mouth with that beautiful cock. He should tell him that, but he can’t talk with his mouth full of cock, so instead, he brings one hand to rest on one of Hannibal’s and grips it tight, pushes those nimble fingers into his scalp.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Hannibal sounds uncertain, small, and the sheer novelty of that makes Will’s own cock throb behind his zipper. Will pulls back, leaving just the head of Hannibal’s cockin his mouth,and nods up at the other man before messily slurping back down.</p><p>And finally, finally, Hannibal gives him what he wants, takes a firm hold of Will’s head and starts to thrust, and it’s perfect. There’s a mixture of saliva and precome dripping down Will’s chin, and this is what he has wanted for so long, and it’s so much better than he even dreamed, and he’s fucking moaning, humming around Hannibal’s dick as he thrusts—carefully, so carefully—into his mouth. But will doesn’t want careful; he wants Hannibal to lose control, to let that carefully guarded mask fall away and allow himself to be completely feral. To let Will see him for what he truly is. Looking up at Hannibal’s face, Will sees him watching, still so goddamn careful and composed, and it is the opposite of what he wants, what he so desperately needs.</p><p>So he reaches for the doctor’s ass, digs his own jagged, bitten off nails into the firm flesh and squeezes. Pulls Hannibal closer to him and he swallows him down to the root. <em>Fuck my face, </em>he wills Hannibal to understand, to take what he needs, to give Will what he wants. <em>I want to choke on your cock. I want to be yours.</em></p><p>When Hannibal gives in, it is Will’s becoming. He holds Will’s jaw and fucks into him, hard and fast, and it’s all Will can do to stay upright. <em>This,</em> he thinks, <em>this is right.</em> It’s so intense, he can barely breathe, and it’s so goddamn intense; he can feel his eyes welling up with more ears, and his breath is catching, and his hips stutter because fuck, he’s coming in his own pants as Hannibal fucks his mouth.</p><p><em>Fuck oh fuck oh fuck </em>is running through his brain like one of those news show tickers as Will trembles through his orgasm, his vision going cloudy at the edges as he struggles to breathe around Hannibal’s cock. And just when he’s on the verge of too much, of everything going dark, Hannibal pulls out, away from Will’s mouth. Will gulps in a ragged breath as Hannibal’s hand frantically works his own cock. A few pulls and then Hannibal’s eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip and comes into his hand.</p><p>Dumbfounded and slightly fuck-drunk, Will just watches the other man. The bliss on his face as he climaxes is intoxicating, and Will wants more. Wants to revel in it.</p><p>But such openness, it seems, is a bridge too far for the good doctor. After he’s wiped himself off with a few tissues from his desk, Hannibal pulls his trousers back up, and in a matter of moments appears as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Mask, once again, firmly in place.</p><p>Something in Will’s gut clenches up tight, and he’s suddenly all too aware that he’s kneeling in front of his psychiatrist, come stain spreading across his own trousers. He clears his throat as he rises to stand, refusing the hand Hannibal has offered him so forcefully he stumbles.</p><p>“I should go,” he says to the floor next to Hannibal’s feet, willing his face not to flush at how wrecked his voice is. Willing himself not to think of what he’s just done.</p><p>“Will—“ Hannibal starts, but Will rushes past him. This…this was a moment of weakness, a mistake. One that he will not repeat.</p><p>He doesn’t look back as he leaves Hannibal’s—<em>Dr. Lecter’s—</em>office, as he leaves the building. No, he doesn’t look back until he’s safely in his car, headed out of Baltimore.</p><p>It won't happen again, he promises himself, even though he knows he's lying.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come say hello on <a href="https://twitter.com/JudithAndronic1">Twitter</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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